


Of a Dragon and the King

by xElegy



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Complete, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xElegy/pseuds/xElegy
Summary: So, the Xander/Corrin ship week happened from October 23rd to the 29th...or 28th. I can't remember. I wrote a small drabble each day and decided to upload them. These two idiots are my Fates otp... and there was a serious lack of gay Xander/Corrin on tumblr, so I wrote m/m for all of them. Enjoy.This is a finished work. Mostly.





	1. Day One - Naming

Corrin.  
   
It’s name he gave a young, traumatized boy a long time ago.   
   
Maybe it isn’t as long as he thinks, but certainly, time and the war have weighed down on him, drawing wrinkles and excessive frown lines on his face. The passage of time has not been kind to him. War robbed him of his smile.  
   
The screams of those who met their smoldering demise at the tip of his blade slowly play through his mind late at night when sleep escapes him like a fleeting mistress who sneaks away through clandestine hallways. Each death, each face, he remembers, because every the time tries to put them to rest, they refuse and freeze frame–  
   
Like now.  
   
Time screeches to a halt and he cannot even hear the hollow roars of the battlefield behind him. Death knells run rampant through Nohr, even to this point, where the sun decides to grace Nohrians. Xander is vaguely aware of his siblings standing near him. Leo holds his head up high, posture perfect on his horse. Camilla holds firm to her wvyern. Elise teeters back and forth between her older brother and sister, clinging to ideals that are long dead in the crown prince: hope, justice, faith.  
   
Corrin remains at the halfway point between Hoshido and Nohr.  
   
In that split second, among the thunderous din, all Xander sees is a child in a bloodied kimono, staring down at the ground with no light in crimson eyes—such red, red eyes, the likes of which he has never seen before. These are the eyes that make the color red tolerable. These are the eyes that remind him of light and love, instead of blood and gore, and flame licked skin.  
   
These are the eyes he’s fallen for.  
   
He remembers Father cutting an imposing figure, his old, graying hand large on the boy’s shoulder as he nudges the child closer to Xander and Camilla. The boy doesn’t lift his head and the hollow voice of Garon rings a loud dirge,  
   
This is your new brother, Xander. I expect you to wipe all Hosidan traces from him.  
   
Xander’s heart jumps into his throat, brings him back to the present. He can feel the cold sweat trailing from his crown to the sides of his face, the patterns on Siegfried’s hilt despite his gauntlets, the ice of his armor and hear the brush of maroon material against black steel, the crackling sound Siegfried’s flames make. Each little detail, he memorizes to distract him. He wants to say Corrin will choose Nohr, their family, will choose him…  
   
The stress on Corrin’s face registers immediately. His eyes glisten as he looks at each person in the face, the weight of a heavy decision forcing him to curl and uncurl his fingers. Corrin—the name Xander bestowed upon him one night—not Kamui. Xander wants to call out to him, the little prince who stole his heart from the first time he laid eyes on him—the little prince, who couldn’t speak any Nohrian.  
   
A little prince who cried for Ryoma when he found himself in a strange land, a child who screamed out for his father, from nightmares, no doubt replaying the death of King Sumeragi over and over again—a child who slowly began to follow him around when he realized Xander would do anything to not hurt him. Xander enjoyed having a pint sized shadow cling to the back of his clothes, bury his forehead into the small of his back. He softened when a tiny knock wrapped at his door, followed by a little pile of warmth pooling against his side. Xander knows he’s been loved that child, this man, ever since he laid eyes on him. These agonizing minutes of waiting for Corrin’s decision crushes him far more than his victims. Love is a horrible, terrible thing, burdening hearts and minds, forcing people to make rash after rash decision. It’s the reason Xander gets out of bed every morning and faces Nohr, faces his father to protect each of his siblings. Love holds him here and love almost has him on his knees to beg the  Dusk Dragon to not take Corrin away from him—not Corrin, not the Corrin he wishes he was his—the Corrin he had grown distant from over the years of Garon’s torment.  
   
Love makes him regret the position he puts Corrin in now. Love spurns hate to become stronger and despair to fall into high levels of tragedy. Love will destroy them all in the end.  
   
Love causes his hearing to be sharper and stronger, as Corrin makes his decision.  
   
“I’m sorry Ryoma… but I’m returning to Nohr.”  
   
His relief is so profound and all consuming.  
   
Corrin cries out as Siegfried meets Raijinto to protect Corrin. Xander doesn’t think, he acts—that is the extent of his love to protect, to continue to keep Corrin safe. As fire and lightning create a whirl of damning energy, he leaves his regrets behind.  
   
Nothing will stop Xander from doing everything he can to shield Corrin now.


	2. Day Two - Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birthright path, end. Spoilers for character death.

The sun filters through every crevice of Castle Shirasagi. It brightens up the tiled floors and alabaster pillars. Flashed opal windows catch the light perfectly and cause the glass to glisten in such a way that he’s never seen before. Time passes here—the sun rises, casting the land of Hoshido in brilliance. When the moon takes the sun’s place, the darkness isn’t impenetrable. Stars brush across the sky, like small gods smiling down on such a bountiful land. It’s a stark contrast to the darkness and infertility of Nohr.   
   
Here, people smile at their once captured prince—the hero of the war, the Yato’s chosen. They give him such respect now that the war is over.  
   
Each battle and even the subsequent adjusting to Hoshido in peacetime has his head in a tizzy. Corrin’s never seen so many people in his life, never seen clothes like this either. Hoshidan clothing is so freeing and doesn’t cling to his legs like Nohrian trousers. The food is easy on his stomach and he finds himself eating more of it than he knows. Nohrian food has always been heavy and rich when the people can get their hands on it. Even the dining room is expansive. Ryoma sits at the head, Hinoka at one side of him, Corrin at the other. Takumi sits on Corrin’s side and Sakura on Hinoka’s. There’s a great deal of chatter and even laughter.  
   
On this day in particular, after Ryoma makes a passing comment on the war, Corrin first feels it.  
   
It begins as a pang of guilt because he simply hasn’t had time to think of Nohr—think of King Leo, the tears shed at Xander’s grand funeral, the tiny casket covered in myriad night blooms that became Elise’s new home. No one sees his hand tremble just slightly, but Corrin loses his breath mid-bite, excuses himself with a hasty smile. Ryoma levels a concerned look in his direction and then nods with a sage kindness. He figures this all must heavy on Corrin. This is his mother’s home, his true home, and the culture shock is sudden and terrifying. It’ll take some time to get used to. Corrin made the right choice to return of the land of his birthright.  
   
Corrin takes the long way back to his room—his old room that’s become his new room in this new castle, this new land that he fought for. The Yato gleams a soft aqua and cuts a golden curved figure that ended a cursed dragon’s life… ended the life of his older brother. For a moment, he thinks he hears the wind whimper through the open windows, hears Xander’s voice call two words that once held such love, morphed into hate and melancholy: little prince.  
   
Those two words cause him to tremble. He remembers the tears that coursed down his face and how Xander held onto his hand, murmured his last words—his last words that should have exonerated Corrin, but for the first time since he’s been to Hoshido, since he’s finally settled down, the weight of the world’s guilt comes crashing down and Corrin loses his breath, staggers forward until he catches himself on the wall. A hand rests over his pounding heart and his vision wavers as tears spring to his eyes again. How… how could this have happened? How could a choice this long ago lead to the deaths of his precious little sister and the older brother he adored?  
   
Adored…?  
   
… gods, it can’t be…  
   
Adored is too simple of a word. Adoring is what Camilla once did to him, fluffing his hair and pinching his cheeks while he whined. Adoring is how his older sister showed her love by setting his clothes out for him, sneaking him on wyvern rides when no one was looking—it was how Elise squeaked and threw her arms open for wide hugs. No, Xander’s feelings were not adoration.  
   
They were love, actual love.   
   
He remembers Xander touching his face for the last time, a clawed gauntlet separating the warmth of hand and cheek, before it slowly slipped away, the light disappearing from his eyes—the light that Corrin did not recognize until now.  
   
Xander was in love with him.   
   
His insides churn and for a moment, he thinks he might throw up before he makes it to his quarters. Corrin’s legs carry him and he’s not sure how he made it. The whites bleed into the obsidian of the Northern Fortress—the Northern Fortress is a familiar friend and memory against all the pale colors that decide to blind him—against the sun that gave him migraines the first time he arrived in Hoshido. He doesn’t know how he managed to land on his bed—which is much lower than he remembered, by the way.   
   
Everything is suddenly different, abruptly terrifying.    
   
Tears cut warm rivers down his cheeks, caught by the sheets of his bed. The realization of Xander’s romantic love is all too much—and what’s more...  
   
… it’s the epiphany of where his own heart lies. He loves Xander, a love that’s far too late. A love he turned his back on when he sided with Hoshido. No—how can this be? Where did this love come from? Had it always been there? Has he always loved Xander like this? His heart continues to slam against his chest. It wants out. It threatens to break the cage it’s confined in so it can run all the way to Nohr and bury itself with the paladin interred in his grave. This can’t be, this can’t—  
   
He’ll never see Xander again.  
   
And it’s his fault that the stalwart prince is dead—the prince who always made him feel safe. The crown prince, who protected and shielded him, who put Corrin before everything else and Corrin feels as if he’ll throw up. He can’t move, paralyzed by the horrific regret pushing down on his chest.   
   
It’s both their faults Elise is dead.  
   
A little girl he loves—a man he’s fallen for far too late. Gods, what has he done?  
   
Corrin writhes until he’s lying on his back, panting heavily as he stares up into the ceiling.  
   
There’s no going back. None of Leo’s spells can send him back in time to stop the decision he’s made.  
   
He has to live with this burdened love that’s slammed into him far too late.  Dragons, is he going to live with himself or manage to hide this from everyone else?  
   
Corrin doesn’t want anyone to forgive him for what he’s done; he doesn’t deserve Leo, Camilla, and Nohr’s forgiveness.


	3. Day Three - Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day three. Assumes Corrin is a manakete who can live forever.

t had been a strange night for Xander. His vision wavered and he could have sworn he was getting sick. Corrin worried over him, sat on his knees and touched a hand to his forehead.  
   
“You feel clammy. Go to bed.”  
   
Rarely did Xander actually listen. There was much work to be done when it came to the state of Nohr. King Garon had left Xander’s beloved country in shambles. The people suffered--famished, the nobles were snakes, and it took all of the guile he possessed to keep Corrin away from the silver, slippery tongues of those in power. He did so by sending the now prince-consort out into the public to heal the festering wounds of the common people. Corrin had this funny habit of giving all manner of people second chances. With trade opened up thanks to Queen Hinoka, Nohr would see a revival soon enough. The problem became the policies. Leo was detrimental in weeding out liars and cheats. Some of the nobles still loyal to the late monster-king mysteriously vanished and the next day, Camilla eagerly sharpened Bolverk, which she had picked off of the muddy remains of their father’s ruined body. Xander didn’t ask where the blood splatters came from. He knew all too well. Both Leo and Camilla acted as one, with Kaze in the periphery guarding Corrin’s life.   
   
Naturally, the nobles were up in arms when he had taken Corrin as his husband.  
   
Corrin suffered both the losses or Ryoma and Takumi in one fell swoop and while Corrin did his best to keep his head up, there were more questions about Corrin’s birth surfacing with the sudden knowledge that Queen Mikoto did not have a hand in the creation of the Hoshidans.  
   
Fatigue made his frown lines deepen but the coolness of Corrin’s hands made him relax, lean into the gentle touch. A large hand covered a small one. There was little Xander could ever do when it came to fighting Corrin, so he turned in, curled his arms around the smaller male, and shut his eyes. His dreams rolled the scenes of darkened skies and wings, wind whipping and whistling past his ears—and falling, to the point his stomach dropped and right before he hit the ground, warm brown eyes opened blearily to hands pushing on his chest to wake him up.  
   
“Hey, Xander—wake up—“  
   
“Corrin…?”  
   
Corrin’s brows furrowed, lips twitched downward into an adorable (because to Xander, Corrin’s everything was adorable) pout. He withdrew his arms and grumbled lowly because his vision blurred and swam before him. There were two of Corrin for a moment and in that split second, Xander didn’t know if he could handle two of his husband. That meant double the curiosity and double the chance of Corrin getting into things that were far more precarious than good.  
   
“Xander! There’s…!”  
   
“What, Corrin, what is it?” Xander sat up and ugh, his head. The ache wasn’t painful enough to keep him in bed, but it was there, annoying, like a religious witness wrapping at the door of a home. No, good sir or madam, you are not wanted in the darkened halls of Castle Krakenberg.  
   
“Your ears—and your eyes!”  
   
“What about them?”  
   
“They’re—like mine!”  
   
“What?”  
   
“Go look!”  
   
Xander sauntered to his feet and for a moment, he thought he could feel each bristle of carpet, smell the scents of the room, especially the clinging aroma of crushed flowers and spring rains that he always associated Corrin with. Corrin was on his heels, thought he heard him stop behind him and grab something off the nightstand. Xander pushed into the bathroom, cold manicured tile nearly shocking him to wake up and—  
   
Well.  
   
Corrin was right.  
   
The first thing he noticed was that his pupils had slit in a peculiar fashion, mirroring how Corrin’s was, (oh, he knew those blood colored eyes well. He often stared into them, whether Corrin was in his lap or writhing under him with an either wide or hooded gaze)  and the ears, just somewhat pointed at the tips. He turned and Corrin’s face contorted in surprise, vague delight, and curiosity. The spark and liveliness of them made Xander’s heart beat a bit faster, his lips curl into a slight smile, but wait—wait, wait—  
   
“Corrin, what is that?”  
   
Corrin wiggled a bit in his spot, holding out a spherical deep purple stone in his hands. Something mystical and shimmering swirled within. Xander knew it was his without putting much stock into it. “This was on your nightstand; this is a…” Corrin trailed off for a moment. “It’s like mine, the same shape and quality, just a different color. It’s a dragonstone!”  
   
“That’s impossible,” Xander sat down on the top of the toilet, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye. “What would bring such a change on in me? My little prince, this defies logic.”  
   
“Why else would you suddenly have a dragonstone, though? What if you don’t feel well because you changed?”  
   
“And what would have brought about a complete biological change, hmm?”  
   
“I dunno. That’s a Leo-question, not a Corrin-question.”  
   
Xander wanted to feel exasperated, but the excitement that perked up Corrin’s form stopped that. “Corrin, we need to be realistic about this.”  
   
Corrin set the dragonstone down and turned the faucet on, handing Xander a glass of water. Xander downed it. Bless the little things. “I am being realistic, Xander. What if this means you can shift like me?”  
   
In all of his years, Xander never heard of such a thing. True, he did have a miniscule amount of Dusk Dragon blood, but not enough to full shift like Corrin could. It was only enough to bend the land to his will. He reached over and grabbed the dragonstone. Rolling the smooth surface in his hands, Xander watched the flecks of magic play and swirl within. He focused intently on amorphous, ever changing shapes.  
   
“Xander? Xander.” Corrin called. It was like Xander didn’t hear him. “Nohr to Xander!”  
   
“Hm? Oh. Yes, my love?”  
   
Corrin smiled. The little pet names Xander used always made his heart flutter and he could never get enough of them. “Let’s test it—see if you can really turn into a dragon.” Corrin gingerly placed his hands over the stone and Xander’s massive hands. He leaned forwarded and pressed their foreheads together. “Okay?”  
   
How could Xander say no? “Very well.”  
   
Corrin quickly threw on his own clothes, almost hopping into his trousers with a great amount of zeal. He snatched his own silver-swirled dragonstone and tucked it into his pocket, flopped back onto the bed as he sat cross-legged and… watched Xander. Xander always took far too long to get ready. Sometimes, the king would take more than an hour—a half hour to pick out an outfit, and the rest of the time to change and look over himself in the mirror. Corrin groaned loudly as the ten minute mark passed and Xander still hadn’t decided on what to wear. He fell back onto the plush bed, causing the sheets and blankets to ruffle.  
   
“Come on, Xander. We really don’t have all day.”  
   
“Hm?” Xander turned, a smirk crossing his face as he drifted over and idly leaned closely.  
   
Corrin blinked and simply grinned up at him. For a moment, they remained like that, close enough to kiss, yet not. Corrin broke the comfortable silence by hastily pressing his lips to Xander. Xander relished in the warmth, but Corrin pulled away before Xander could think to deepen the kiss.  
   
“I want to see,” Corrin murmured. “I want to see if you’re like me… because if you are then… I won’t outlive you.” A strange sadness struck Xander. “So can you hurry up, just this once?”  
   
“Doubtless, your complaints about me getting ready won’t stop here, my love,”  
   
“No, maybe not.” Corrin brushed long, pianist fingers against Xander’s cheek. “Come on. Go get changed.”  
   
It took another half hour until Xander decided he was decent. Corrin tried his best to not complain about it.  
   
Xander idly took Corrin’s hand as they stepped out of the king’s chambers and headed to the garden. When they arrived, Corrin let go and brought his hands to his chest, intertwining his fingers. Xander simply stared back at Corrin, half admiring and half at a loss.  
   
“Little prince,” Xander began, balancing the stone on his palm. “How does one go about turning into a dragon?”  
   
“Oh!” Corrin flushed for a moment. Xander chuckled. “I guess you just… concentrate! It kinda comes second nature to me, you know,”  
   
“Yes, well, you ARE a dragon. I imagine being a dragon does that.”  
   
“Not necessarily. The first time I tried to fly, I faceplanted into the ground,” Corrin laughed, a ringing, soft sound that caused Xander to exhale fondly. “Elise really panicked before she laughed at me.”  
   
Xander shook his head.  
   
“Okay, okay. So, well, just concentrate on the stone. It’ll all make sense then, I think. That’s how I did it.”  
   
Corrin watched carefully as Xander focused on the dragonstone. Something about the air was… different. Was this how dragons normally shifted? Corrin never knew someone else with an ability similar to use before, so all he could go off of was what he had learned. A self-taught, self-made dragon! Right, that was it. He let his hopes float up like a small balloon rising into the air. Leo took the time to sit him down one day and educate him on manaketes and what they were and even his younger brother was somewhat hesitant to tell him that even half breeds had incredible life expectancies. Part of Corrin was crushed as he continued to assault Leo with questions about what he had read. He tried not to think about outliving his entire family, the family he had chosen—the family who raised him. A long life meant loneliness after a certain point and Corrin’s heart was not one meant to be left alone for long periods of time. So, yes, he wanted hope. He wanted nothing more than to know Xander, too, could possibly be a dragon. Even if Corrin was one to let a lot of things go in terms of explanation, it puzzled him, honestly. Please, he thought, please let this actually happen. Every time he curled up next to Xander, even if he didn’t think about his mortality, or lack of, the intrusive thought sliced and gleamed through his mind, turning to a thief that robbed him of a good night’s sleep. How could he leave them behind after they all fought together? After he had fallen for such a wonderful man—the man who treasured him since he arrived at Nohr.  
   
The release of power almost caused Corrin to stumble and where Xander was stood… a dragon. His eyes widened as a bulky, strong and muscular form raised its head proudly. He was all scales and maned with golden horns to match brown-gold eyes. His scales were a rich ebon while his underbelly matched the color of his dragonstone—a deep royal purple. How… magnificent. Corrin wondered if his siblings and Xander felt the exact awe he felt in that moment when they saw him as well. The form before him reminded him greatly of the Dusk Dragon—which must have been from the Dusk Dragon’s blood coursing through Xander’s veins. For a moment, Corrin noticed that Xander held himself in a state of confusion, idly glancing down at himself while Corrin smiled more and more, until he beamed and the brightness took up his entire face. A few of the maids had stopped and stammered—as Corrin could barely hear them behind him.  
   
“Xander—you’re…!”  
   
The sound that came from Xander was a powerful and confused roar as he stretched out his wings awkwardly. Part of them were an even deeper purple and Corrin wandered closer, extending his arms. Xander leaned down and poked his muzzle into Corrin’s stomach. Corrin giggled softly and wrapped his arms around his head. Xander seemed to calm down a bit as he felt Corrin’s fingers brush against his scales.  
   
“You’re as handsome a dragon as you are a human,” He whispered. “And for the matter, this is another Leo-question, isn’t it?”  
   
Xander nudged against Corrin again.  
   
“Oh… you wanna turn back already. Yeah, that’d make sense. Just concentrate on the stone again.”  
   
Where a large dragon once stood, Xander reappeared, eyes a bit wide. He glanced down from the dragonstone, to Corrin, to the dragonstone, then Corrin once more. Before a question could leave his lips, Corrin took a leap into his arms. The dragonstone dropped to the ground and Xander’s arms snapped around Corrin, catching him and holding him high.  
   
“You’re a dragon!”  
   
“Y-Yes, it certainly seems so.”  
   
Corrin wrapped his arms around Xander’s neck. He nuzzled their faces together. “How does it feel?”  
   
“I feel… oddly fine.” Xander shifted his arms to hold Corrin more securely.  
   
“I can show you how to be a dragon!” The excitement thrilled through Corrin’s voice. His hands slid to rest on Xander’s broad shoulders as he tilted his head.  
   
“Well, I’d hope so,” Xander’s chuckle gave way to more amusement than anything else. He certainly wasn’t sure how to take this whole dragon thing, but he somehow felt… relieved, if anything—relieved that Corrin wouldn’t be left alone at some point later in their future.  
   
Not far off, a hooded man quietly smiled to himself, tugging the material of his cloak further over his eyes.


	4. Day Four - Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' fluffy AU.
> 
> I always thought Corrin's dragon form was really stupid, so I decided to change it to be more like a dragon/kirin hybrid. He is literally fluffy.

A small, golden haired boy—no more than eight in age—finds himself lost in the Woods of Forlorn one day after wandering away from the castle. He’s always been somewhat fearless when it comes to the unknown, but around many people and, Dusk Dragon help him, new people, he’s been skittish and shy, preferring to hide behind his mother’s ornate dress or burrowing himself into her arms. Today, though, the low, enigmatic sound of the Woods do nothing but make him wary. Each spidery, black branch spirals upwards, like fingers looking to pluck the dismal clouds out of the sky and smash them across the length of the ground to create the dense fog the Woods of Forlorn are known for. He thinks, though, Father taught him well, so he should be able to make his way back with little problem…  
   
Right?  
   
As he wanders, the flash of white catches his eye.  
   
It’s silver and white, glitters even in the lack of Nohrian light. Whatever it is, it’s small and it piques his curiosity, so he follows it. He can hear it breathing and then suddenly, the white splotch among the black stops and settles down. Oh—it’s small and it slowly turns to him—  
   
Gods, it’s a dragon!  
   
Excitement courses through Xander, but also a bit of fear—no! He aspires to be a strong man like his father, a paladin of Nohr’s order, he most certainly is not afraid. His apprehension washes away a bit more when he sees the ruby eyes of the creature. They’re the most gentle eyes he’s ever seen, brilliant, and maybe even more kind than his precious mother. The dragon is made of fluff and feathers, scale under the fluff. It’s tail is long and frilled somewhat at the end. When it sees Xander, that tail begins to wag quickly. The dragon comes over and what is it—is it… it’s almost hovering above the ground. A horn of silver adorns its head and it hunkers down, almost like a cat sticking its bum and tail in the air, but the tail keeps wagging. Xander stares in wonder, brown meeting red.  
   
“A-… ah… hello?”  
   
The dragon tries to roar in greeting. It comes out as a squeaky peep.  
   
Xander is taken aback—blinks to try and register the adorable sound that came out of its mouth. It’s muzzle is typical of a dragon—but the way it carries itself, how sleek it is, why, it almost reminds him of a unicorn as well. The dragon seems to smile, comes closer—fluffs up like a baby bird and folds its scale-and-feather wings back. And then, it bumps Xander with the side of its head.  
   
He stumbles back a few steps, only to have the dragon come closer and affectionately bump against him once or twice, giving a little peep once more. Xander laughs. He cautiously reaches out and pets the dragon’s head. The dragon almost vibrates in joy, pushing its head into Xander’s hand. Xander laughs a little more.  
   
“Nice to meet you, too.  
   
   
\--  
   
   
The dragon hangs around the Woods of Forlorn and it seems to know how to get around quite well. Xander can’t help but be amazed at how fluidly the small thing walks alongside of him, hovering just slightly above the ground and dead blades of grass. Whenever Xander walks into the Woods, the dragon just comes to find him. It’s endearing how happy it is to see him and Xander begins to look forward to seeing the dragon every day. The life of a young prince is isolating and lonely. Other boys tip toe around him because his father is king and the girls giggle because their mothers fill their heads with wooing a boy so young to eventually marry him. This dragon—why, this dragon is his friend. A dragon is a creature of the wild, so it knows nothing like prince and princesses, kings and queens. It knows little of kingdoms and sometimes, he watches it roll in the crunchy leaves, kicking its legs and claws into the air. How easy it is, to live a life free of lessons and etiquette.  
   
Xander worries, though.  
   
A white and silver dragon in the midst of a black, evil woods where Faceless live?  
   
He can’t have his one and only friend alone in such a dangerous place.  
   
The young prince makes an executive decision, just like his father.  
   
He picks up the dragon, much like a smaller child would pick up a cat, and brings the dragon home with him.  
   
The dragon peeps with joy the entire way.  
   
   
\--  
   
   
What does a dragon eat?  
   
Meat, he guesses.  
   
He assumes the dragon can understand him because it stares at him with such intent, reacts to the things he says. There’s even a point where Xander asks if the dragon is a boy or a girl. The dragon hops at the word “boy” so he assumes the dragon is also a he. Whenever Xander leaves his room, the dragon tries to follow him like a faithful puppy after its master.  
   
“No,” Xander pets the dragon’s head. “No one can know you’re here. You need to stay in my room. I’ll bring you something to eat later, okay?”  
   
A loud peep is his answer.  
   
“Shhh!”  
   
Little does he know his mother already knows of the dragon. She had walked into his room to find Xander and found the fluffy dragon caught and rolled up in Xander’s sheets, half hanging off the bed. It’s a little secret between her and such a fantastical creature. So, this is the reason Xander seems happier.  
   
Xander does his work at his desk and sometimes, the dragon dozes lazily at the edge of his bed. At night, the dragon curls himself in a small ball against his back and reaches for Xander’s hand with his tail. Xander used to have nightmares about crowds and people, becoming a regal king and losing his voice in front of his subjects. It seems the dragon keeps them at bay.  
   
One day, Xander sighs as he looks down at the dragon crawling around under a blanket he tossed on the floor—a lump with wings squeaking and moving. His head pokes out from under the blanket and he looks up at Xander. Xander smiles down at him. “I wish I didn’t have to hide you.”  
   
The dragon tilts his head and Xander thinks he sees a thoughtful gleam cross red, red eyes.  
   
   
\--  
   
   
They go to sleep that night and Xander settles down with the dragon next to him. He wakes up with a yawn—but something’s different. He doesn’t see the outline of wings, nor is a tail grasping his wrist. No—the figure under the blanket seems different—off… what… what is it? Xander rubs his eyes and he doesn’t know why, but he feels compelled to pull the plush blanket back and when he does, he lets out a loud gasp.  
   
Where the dragon was, a boy of his age lays, sleeping fitfully next to him. His hair is as white and pure as the feathers and scales and it looks like he’s clad in a robe made of silver. The boy is smaller than him just by a bit. He scoots back to the other side of the bed, dumbfound, confused, and the movement backs the boy blink his eyes open and—  
   
Red.  
   
Just like the dragon.  
   
The boy sits up, small hands and fingers curling around the thick, soft blanket. He looks like he’ll fall asleep sitting up and—huh…? His ears are pointed, pupils slit, too. Xander tries to speak, but the shock compels him to be silent. When the boy glances toward him, his entire being lights up in happiness. He makes a sound akin to a tiny squeak.  
   
“What did you… where did… what did you do with the dragon!?” Perhaps that comes out louder than he wants it too.  
   
The boy appears puzzled. His hair is gently messy, longer in some spots and somewhat choppy in the back. He tilts his head and points to himself, tries to speak, but no voice comes out except for a little sound of confusion. And then, it appears as if something dawns on him. He rustles through his robe and pulls out a stone—silver, something swirls slowly inside, sparkling and gleaming. With a smile, the boy looks down at the stone. A whirl of light engulfs him and the dragon he’s become fast friends with is in the boy’s place. Xander gasps, eyes widening to the size of serving saucers. Even as the dragon shifts back into a boy, he still cannot believe what he’s seeing. When the boy smiles widely, he sees the tips of his canines are sharpened more subtly than his own.  
   
“Gods… you’re… you’re a miracle!”  
   
The boy giggles.  
   
\--  
   
Xander passes off the boy as his friend—gives him some of his clothes so the somewhat intricate robe he wears doesn’t attract attention. It’s refreshing how excited he is to see everything around him—but it also gives Xander somewhat of a headache. When he takes the boy outside into the garden, where the night blooms face the sky and try to steal whatever moonlight peaks through the haze, the boy is often distracted by the dark colors. He goes barefoot everywhere and whenever Xander tries to get him to wear shoes, the boy just kicks them off completely and huffs loudly to show his displeasure. Xander lets the shoe conundrum go. No matter how much he argues that it’ll protect the boy from hurting himself, the boy shakes his head, causing his hair to tremble like the last few leaves of autumn clinging to tree branches. Often, the boy wanders away from Xander completely to chase after a royal blue butterfly that finds its wafting way into the gardens. One minute, he’s holding onto the back of Xander’s shirt, the next minute, he darts off and reaches out to catch the fragile creature.  
   
“W-Wait!” Xander calls and he’s amazed at how fast the boy can run.  
   
The boy stops keeps going until he gingerly scoops the butterfly out of the air in front of him. He turns back to Xander and opens his hands. The little creature is truly stunning, dark blue fading until it grows lighter and lighter, docile in the boy’s hands. It crawls ponderously on his palm, wings waving just slightly. For some reason, it seems content in the boy’s hands and he smiles widely as he watches it. And then, the boy glances up with a little gasp. He reaches out and takes Xander’s wrist, moving his hand over his, flattening his palm with his fingers. The boy eases the butterfly onto Xander’s hand. Much to Xander’s surprise, it simply trots over—and—heh, it tickles! Xander can’t help but smile as well. He dares not even twitch in fear of accidentally crushing the butterfly.   
   
It lingers, then flutters into the sky, becoming a tiny speck in the darkness.  
   
The boy waves and vivaciously waves goodbye to it.  
   
Xander smiles widely for the first time in… well, he doesn’t remember.  
   
   
\--  
   
The boy sits in front of him, lips twisted in an exaggerated frown.  
   
Xander tries to teach him to speak. He starts with names.  
   
“Xander,” He points to himself.  
   
“Xan… der…?” The boy tries. “… Xander!”  
   
Xander nods with a smile. “That’s right.”  
   
“Xander” is the only thing the boy says for a short while—everything is Xander, the trees, the flowers, the bed, he points and just announces, “Xander!”  
   
The boy needs a name of his own, so Xander sits him back across from him on the bed. He can’t give his friend any old name. It has to be something special, so he sits and crosses his arms, brows furrowed in thought. Perhaps, he’s over thinking it, but he decides and gently touches the boy’s shoulder. “Corrin.”  
   
“Xander?”  
   
“No, no… Corrin. You. You’re Corrin.”  
   
The boy tilts his head. “Xander.”  
   
“No, no. Corrin.” Xander points. “Your name is Corrin.”  
   
“Xander?” The boy points to himself.  
   
“Corrin.”  
   
“… c… cor… core-in?”  
   
“Close enough.” Xander smiles warmly. “Corrin.”  
   
“Core-in.”  
   
“Corrin.”  
   
“Mmmm. Corrin!”  
   
Xander laughs. “That’s right. Corrin.”  
   
It’s Corrin’s turn to smile. “Corrin, Corrin!”   
   
“Oof!”  
   
Suddenly, Xander has Corrin in his lap and arms—wrap them around Xander’s middle. Corrin nuzzles his head against Xander’s neck while laughing and Xander feels his heart warm to summer heat proportions. His arms waver in their spot until he slowly wraps them around Corrin. Corrin seems pleased, if evidenced by the fact he snuggles even closer to Xander. Yes, Xander decides, he quite likes having a little dragon as a friend.  
   
\--  
   
Corrin is a fast learner and even faster at getting himself into trouble.  
   
He tends to run off and Xander has to chase after him throughout the castle.  
   
One day, Corrin is gone—completely, and Xander panics. Gods, he needs to find Corrin before his mother and father do—what if they decide Corrin needs to leave? Not his only friend! Xander scours the obsidian halls for Corrin, calling his name, until he hears Corrin with a bright, “Xander!” Xander throws open the door to the room only to have his heart stop.  
   
Corrin sits on the knee of Queen Katerina, smiling up at her. He waves at Xander in greeting.  
   
“M-Mother…” Xander stammers. He adores his mother so, but the childish fear in him rises. Gods, he doesn’t want to lose his friend, please, please Dusk Dragon…  
   
“Your little friend is very talkative,” Katerina’s eyes mirror Xander’s, only they hold a maternal warmth and unbridled love. Her face is framed by her tightly curled, long blond hair. She’s loveliness incarnate, a painting come to life.  
   
“Corrin!” Corrin laughs.  
   
“I…” Xander doesn’t know what to do, so he blurts out, “Please, Mother, don’t make him go away—“  
   
“Shhh, come here, my love,” Xander obeys and Katerina helps him to her other knee. She’s quite pleased to have two children in her lap. “Your father and I have known for a while.”  
   
“… oh.” Xander’s face falls into a little guilty frown.   
   
“You have a special friend, hmm? I’ve never known anyone to be able to turn into a dragon.”  
   
Corrin points to himself proudly. As if to further his point, he slides off of Katerina’s lap and poof! A dragon flops onto the ground in a flutter of silver-white feathers. His tail wags.  
   
Xander feels his heart sink a bit more. “I found him in the Woods of Forlorn by himself. I didn’t want him to be by himself, Mother,”  
   
“I think we have more than enough room for a little dragon,”  
   
“Really?” Xander tries to reign in his excitement.  
   
“Of course.”  
   
Corrin wiggles and peeps a small roar.  
   
“He can stay? Truly?” Xander allows himself this small hope.  
   
“Yes, Xander, he can stay.”  
   
Xander leans closely and embraces Katerina tightly. “Thank you, Mother.”  
   
Katerina kisses the top of his head. “Go play for now, my love.”  
   
Xander relinquishes his mother and nods. He slides off of her lap. “Corrin, can you turn back into a human?”  
   
Corrin nods and does so, sitting on the ground cross-legged before bouncing to his feet.  
   
“I want to show you more of the castle” Xander holds his hand out to the dragon.  
   
Corrin immediately takes it and squishes. “Okay!”  
   
Xander tugs Corrin gently, glancing back to his mother once or twice as Katerina laughs softly.  
   
It’s quite nice to see her son have a little friend.  
 


	5. Day Five - Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you think Corrin can cook, you're wrong. Find out why in this next thrilling installment.

It’s a universal truth and well known fact that Corrin cannot cook to save his own hide.  
   
He’s forced Jakob to show him how to fend for himself, but it always fails in some disastrous way. Either his tea is too burnt, the meat is too raw, or the soup turns to sludge in his hands. Corrin gets points for trying, though… just… no points from Jakob. From Xander, of course he does. Corrin always wracks up a high score with the crown prince of Nohr. That’s just how love rolls. Corrin is in quite a bind because the war rages while Xander’s birthday arrives. He hasn’t had time to do anything for Xander because he’s been so busy. The days zoom by when there’s so much work to be done. He wakes up next to Xander, raises his head slightly, sees the date, and finally panics.  
   
Oh no—he never forgets birthdays! How could be possibly forget one of the most important ones?  
   
He tries to settle back down because Xander always wakes up early. Maybe if he pretends he’s asleep, Xander will slip out and not know, giving him more than enough time to throw something together.  
   
Corrin’s always been a crafter. It’s one of the things he did in the Northern Fortress to keep himself from growing too lonely. His favorite thing is bead work, especially glass beads. Camilla and Elise bring him so many colors and types, but, ugh, he doesn’t have time to match all of Xander’s favorite colors, pick out the right charms, or even fashion one. (Once, he made a mini Siegfried. Xander was impressed because it was expertly made.)  
   
Oh!  
   
He can make a cake!  
   
Yes, he’ll make a cake, despite the fact that he and Leo have been permanently banned from the mess hall. (Corrin can’t cook and Leo’s given the entire army food poisoning. Twice.) Sure, Corrin has to sneak into the mess hall, grab a cake mix, and go to town, but that’s was significant others do. They put their lover first! He will make a good cake, he’s determined! It’ll be the best cake because it’s made with love! It doesn’t matter that Corrin drops all the shells into the batter then tries to fish them out with a fork—doesn’t matter what Corrin uses a bit too much water and makes yellow soup instead of yellow cake. It certainly doesn’t matter that he thinks adding more flour to the mix will salvage this horrific mess that’s birthed from his fingertips. Some of the flour falls and coats everything in thin, fine mist, but Corrin doesn’t care, no! It’s for Xander!  
   
… so… why does his cake slosh so much? Does it need more sugar? (He added some and vanilla extract just in case.)  
   
Oh, right, right. Cake rises when it’s cooked!   
   
Corrin turns on the oven and places the soupy cake inside, shutting the oven door with his hip. All he needs to do now, is wait… but if he turns up the heat on the oven, then he can have the cake faster and Xander won’t have to wait—yes, flawless logic! That’s exactly what he does.  
   
It doesn’t take long for a sugary, burning, gross and cringe worthy scent to permeate the air. Corrin’s nerves rise as he goes to the cake and sees it… bubbling, like a creature from one of Nohrian’s worst bogs. Oh dear—oh no—  
   
He hastily takes the mangled excuse for a cake out. It’s burnt in splotches and smokes in a comical, puffy manner. When he slides it out of the dish, it falls apart and bursts open so some of the soup-batter bleeds out like pus from a wound. Corrin winces.   
   
… maybe some frosting will help.  
   
Needless to say, it does not.   
   
By now, the cake is destroyed and really does smell quite terrible. The frosted pieces have uneven chocolate over them and he’s mixed some frosting with the soup to make it thicker, but well… that doesn’t work either. Sticking a couple candles in the burnt pieces makes the whole thing look so sad. Corrin can almost hear the cake begging for it to be put out of its misery.  
   
“Oh… drat.” Corrin buries his face in his hands.  
   
“Little prince?”  
   
Corrin stiffens and slowly glances to Xander, who stands in the threshold of the kitchen. If anything, Xander appears amused.  
   
“Ah, there you are my little prince. I thought you were banned from the kitchen, hmm? What is that awful stench?”  
   
Corrin stands in front of the cake. “Oh… it’s nothing, Xander, I swear!” He laughs a bit nervously.  
   
“Come now. What are you doing?”  
   
“I… tried making you a cake because I didn’t have a gift for your birthday,”  
   
Xander’s face softens. It’s endearing and sweet. The very thought means more than the cake could. “I’m certain it can’t be that bad.”  
   
“Oh… well, it’s a pretty sad cake,” Corrin scratches the back of his head.  
   
“Show me,”  
   
“No, that’s okay. I don’t think you should see it.”  
   
“Little prince, show me the present you’ve made for me… oh. Well… I suppose you’re right. That is a rather… sad cake.”  
   
Corrin flushes as he stands near his monstrous creation. “You can almost hear it begging for mercy.”  
   
“I… am quite touched you cooked for me, little prince, but I don’t think you should pursue this hobby,” Corrin’s ears droop slightly, but he doesn’t have long to actually feel badly about it because Xander’s lips brush against his, strong, sure arms sliding across his back. “The best gift I could have this year is your love, Corrin.”  
   
Corrin finds himself smiling, burying his face into Xander’s chest. “Happy birthday, Xander. I love you.”  
   
Xander leans closely and rests his chin gently atop of Corrin’s head. “I love you as well.” He holds Corrin with one arm and casually nudges the cake into the garbage.  
 


	6. Day Six - King's Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never liked the idea of Corrin becoming king of Valla. I mean, who would want the son of the man who oppressed an entire kingdom and slaughtered most of it? Well, we can chalk that up to FEF’s pretty terrible writing. SO WHY DO I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH? … it’s the characters.

   
They offer him the crown.  
   
A crown is a heavy burden, especially for someone who has no idea how to rule.  
   
Corrin has spent his life in choking isolation for too long. His first taste of freedom began with death and war, with an impossible choice that he denied to make and now, this is far too much. Valla is certainly beautiful, but it isn’t like any of them had time to admire the floating continents and the myriad shimmering dragon veins that dot the overgrown land. This is a place of silence, like Azura said.  
   
He stands, not far from the entrance of the castle. The final battle weighs heavy on him and as exhausted as he is, he cannot sleep—so he takes a walk until he grows bored of walking. It does nothing to clear his head. The surviving Vallites talk of princes and kings. Who will rule them? How will they find who still lives? Anankos has taken so many lives and resurrected them only to make them puppets. A paltry sum remains alive. Why, to them, it makes sense to give it to the commander of the army who saved them, the one who holds the Fire Emblem and a Vallite, himself.  
   
“Even when you look troubled you’re quite beautiful, my little prince.”  
   
Corrin glances up, his hands folded and clutched at his chest. “Xander? When did you get here? I didn’t even hear you.”  
   
“Perhaps it’s because you’re too deep in thought,” Xander stands before him, a small smile writing across his lips.  
   
“Oh… does it really look it?” Corrin lets his hands fall to his sides.  
   
“Yes. You are easy to read, my love,” Xander comes closer and slides a hand into Corrin’s. He shifts their bodies so one hand rests above his hip and takes them, moving them slowly around a small patch of flowers and weeds intermixed.  
   
Corrin looks up and down at their feet and laughs a bit. “This isn’t any time for dancing, Xander!”  
   
“Ah, but you follow me so easily,” Xander lets go of Corrin’s hip and twirls him, before sliding his arm back along his back. Corrin gives a tiny laugh. “There. A smile has returned to my love’s lips.” He stops them. “Tell me what troubles you.”  
   
“The Vallites. They want me to be their king,”  
   
Something inside of Xander rejects the notion completely. Perhaps, it’s something desperate to keep Corrin near him for the rest of his life—Corrin, the young boy he loved as soon as he came to Nohr and grew to fall in love with over the years. To have Corrin return his love sets his heart free and no, he will not give Corrin up to a country none of them have previously known about. Naturally, this is not his choice, but Corrin notices Xander holding his body a bit tighter. Brown eyes meet red. Everything to this point has been Corrin’s will, including their love. It was Corrin who stumbled into his quarters on a night that rained too much, where a simple conversation grew more intimate. “And you are unsure?”  
   
Corrin bites the bottom of his lip and nods. “What do I do?”  
   
“Are you asking for my opinion, little prince?”  
   
“Yeah,” Corrin whispers and gives Xander a tiny smile—gods, how Xander lives for those smiles. “What would you do in my position?”  
   
“Well,” Xander moves them once more, a gentle dance around the small area in front of the castle’s threshold. “Consider your life and consider what you’ve fought for. Consider what you want most. That is what I would do first and foremost. You have never lived the life of crown prince, which is far different than the life of a prince or princess with no claim to the crown. Politics, a court, an entire country, all of these things need to be taken into account. Of course, when you marry me you’ll share in these duties, but I will be ruling the country, not you.”  
   
“I know that!” Corrin squeaks a bit, glancing away at the sound. Xander only rumbles a chuckle. “I’ve never… I wouldn’t know how to, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn.”  
   
“Do you want to be king of Valla, little prince?”  
   
“I…”  
   
Xander stops them and securely slides an arm across the center of Corrin’s back, dipping him lowly. “So long have I wanted your light and love, Corrin. I’ve wanted you to be mine, but refused to influence your decision should your heart belong to another,” Corrin’s face reddens. He slides his hands up to his shoulders and wraps his arms around Xander’s neck. There’s no worry tensing his body; Xander would never drop him. “I must return to Nohr. Lord Ryoma to Hoshido. Our families and friends will go home as well. Do you want to live in another place that will become a Northern Fortress for you with no experience to rule? Do you want to be away from those you love?”  
   
“N… no… I don’t.”  
   
“How do you feel when you picture yourself as king of Valla?”  
   
“Scared,” Corrin says immediately. “Scared—not only because of being king, but I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore. There’s so much I want to do and see, so much I want to do.”  
   
“You may not get to do those things as king, my love.”  
   
Corrin pauses and then falls silent. His gaze does not falter from Xander’s, but he can’t deny that Xander is right. “What about the people?”  
   
“I believe Lord Ryoma and I can accommodate them elsewhere, in Hoshido and Nohr, if they choose to come.”  
   
“Xander.” Corrin says with a bit more strength to his voice.  
   
“If you have doubts, any doubts at all about the crown, you shouldn’t take it.”  
   
“I have so many,” Corrin murmurs, sliding his hands to rest on Xander’s cheeks. He touches his face, bringing a little smile to Xander’s lips. Each of the lines, the shape of it, the warmth, it’s familiar and comforts Corrin. He knows now. And once he’s resolute in his decision, the nervousness evaporates and his stomach settles. “I don’t want to be king of Valla,”  
   
Xander slowly stands and brings Corrin to his feet.   
   
“And you don’t have to. Stay with me, my love. Let me take care of you and show you all the things you’ve missed.”  
   
Corrin smiles. He shifts closer and wraps his arms around Xander’s middle, holding onto him tightly. Xander returns the warm embrace. “I think… I feel better now…”  
   
“Good. We’ll inform the Vallites of your denial and an alternate place to lay their heads tomorrow. For now… come to bed. It has been a long day.”  
   
Corrin nods and allows Xander to lead him off. “But… I… still feel guilty,” He glances away sheepishly, almost distracted by how comfortable his hand is in Xander’s.  
   
“That is your curse, little prince. You always feel guilty.” Xander’s lips twitch into a fond smile. “Do you trust me?”  
   
“Of course I do!”  
   
“You’ll be fine,”  
   
Corrin sighs and watches the ground and blades of grass pass under them. He lifts his head and the stars form little halos above them. He squeezes Xander’s hand in response. “Do you promise?”  
   
“I promise.”  
   
The next day, Corrin politely rejects the offer of the Vallite crown.  
 


	7. Day Seven - Free Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complete AU.
> 
> I wasn’t planning on adding more to this, but if people are interested, I’ll write more. Let me know in the comments or by notes. Whatever.

Nothing prepares him for how difficult it is to be king. Yes, he knows it would never be an easy task and Nohr is a harsh mistress to all who treat her even kindly… but it’s people, oh, it’s people distrust the king. They refuse to listen to anyone in a position of power due to Garon’s oppression. The peasants and middle class continue to turn to crime. It’s often one hears news about how a noble’s home has been torched or ransacked. No peasant dares to snitch on the culprit because they, too, have been given a small share and cannot feed their dying family. Pestilence and famine are common. The people are so used to dying in the streets that the specter of death even lingers in cities like Windmire—large towns that are well off.

They’ve learned to take care of themselves because of the late King Garon.

Xander can still remember his father’s eyes when Siegfried’s flames burned away his father’s form, leaving a muddy, horrific monster in his wake. Even Leo stopped for a split second and Xander saw his little brother freeze while Camilla pulled Elise close to shield her.

So many of Garon’s nobles and loyalists were killed that day. His throne is one of corpses, blood, and oppression. Not many people cheer when Xander is crowned.

The uphill battle grows worse and worse. He loses sleep and he dreads every day.

One day, Siegfried burns him. Something in his soul shrivels and wrenches away from the holy blade’s hellish fire.

That’s when he feels it.

It’s not something he can describe readily but he sees something almost muddy behind his eyes—muddy like his father, something with claws that abruptly squeeze the humanity out of his soul. He lays in his lonely bed, unable to move and his emotions on the outside dull. Xander begins to say things he doesn’t mean. His face pales and he grows feverish, outwardly angry—though he knows this isn’t how he’s supposed to be. Camilla hides Elise from him—tells her that her precious oldest brother is sick and needs time. Leo senses something amiss and confronts him. Xander feels himself snap, though he has no control over it. To see Leo’s brown eyes narrow with growing icy rage at him twists his soul and allows whatever it is to hold tighter.

What he wants to do is roar for help. He opens his mouth and tries, Dusk Dragon, he tries so beg and plead his little brother—his clever, precious little brother who always sees through secret veils and lies, who always sees past what’s in front of him, but Leo never realized Garon was a monster either and Leo believes himself to be swathed in Xander’s massive shadow, so he grabs his books and storms off with as much dignity as he can manage.

Xander knows he’s doomed to repeat what his father has done and he has no control of it. The unyielding urge to fall to his knees and beg for the Dusk Dragon to spare his rotten life, to free him from this torment. Each day, the pain and weight on his soul grows worse and worse. Whatever it is that has a hold on him, it whispers cajolingly to let go and let it take over. Xander vehemently refuses.

He doesn’t know how long he can take this.

The day he feels himself a little more like himself is the day he decides to do what his father once done when he was in mourning: go to Nestra’s opera houses.

–

Maybe he should have escaped when his mother did.

Then, Father would have really been alone.

Mother begged him to come with her and settled her hands gently on his shoulders, ruffled his white hair a bit and all he could do was smile. It was the last time he saw his gentle, beautiful mother, but he sees her in his dreams sometimes. Visions of her in a long white and pale blue dress appear to him and she walks along the webs of his dreams, balancing precariously over a writhing, angry dragon god who wants to destroy all humanity, including the woman he once loved.

Corrin has always been a stubborn boy who grew to be an equally as stubborn young man.

He stayed in Valla as long as he could, until every single human around him fell under Anankos’s spell, until he had managed to get hold of his own pendant. His nightmares are of the myriad corpses that sprawl along Valla, corpses that slowly rise and look at him with their blank, listless eyes… and then they all vanish, leaving uneven splotches of blood in their wake.

Was there nothing he could ever do?

When he escaped Valla through a portal of water, he could have sworn he heard the shattering roar of his father’s rage before the water blocked everything else out.

Cyrkensia is where he lands, near the opera house.

He hides the Yato away and tells the other performers that his accent is from some land or another—but they never ask. It’s better that way. Corrin can’t speak of Valla, nor does he think he’ll find his mother. It’s been over a decade since he’s seen her. He doesn’t want to think that she’s dead—gods, Mother, please be alive somewhere and well. Maybe if he makes enough money in the opera house, he can find a way to travel. The farther he gets away from Valla, the farther he gets away from his father’s unfettered rage, the better.

This is it, he decides. The opera house is where he can find work. His first audition was simple enough—sing a song. Of course he can sing. His family line has many songstresses.

So, he sings the song his cousin learned and hummed all the time. Their whole family can carry a tune. Mother used to sing him lullabies and he thinks he vaguely recalls his Father doing the same when he was small. Corrin and Azura often walked around the floating rocks of Valla singing together, her voice as smooth as the waters that softly ran against rocks and his own voice bearing a smokey innocence to it.

There’s a great deal of buzz around the opera house one day. A very important political figure is visiting and wants a private show from one of the performers. Corrin listens to the other singers argue among themselves. None of them want to do it because it’s the cruel king of Nohr. The rumors are that he killed his father and usurped the throne. Their voices tremble and they list off the things they’ve heard him do—he’s a giant of a man, wide shoulders, a terrifying blade that’s hotter than the flames of Hell. He wears dark armor and the most severe facial expression.

“I’ll do it,” Corrin raises his voice over the din.

It draws the gazes of the other performers.

They all think Corrin’s doomed. Better him than them.

–

Xander settles in the large opera room. The stage is wide before him, heavy curtains drawn back and tied with expert knots to keep them in place. His gaze scans the area and part of his thoughts linger on the deaths of the performers who fail him and—no—no! That’s not what he wants.

That’s a thought his father would have.

His fingers clutch the arm of the seat. The squeezing pressure almost crushes it. Gods, please let this help him… please, please, let someone see he’s in this much pain. Why can no one see? Why is he trapped within his own body? Why does it act on its own?

He barely made it here. The entire time, he fought with himself. How heavy his body has become. It wants him to go back to Nohr and remain within the confines of the throne room to never come out until the loneliness kills the rest of his soul. He feels so disgusting, muck and mud making it so hard to breathe. Is this his punishment for being an extension of his father? Torturing and killing Nohr’s enemies or even those who dared speak out against a monster?

A young man steps out into the center of the stage.

He makes no sound as he walks because he’s barefoot. The clothes he wears are silver and white, trimmed with dark navy. There are tassels that follow him gently as he walks, the material of satin ribbons following him. This, of course, is a performer’s costume, but part of Xander thinks it’s flattering on the white haired young man. And those eyes—those red, red eyes. They draw him in and cause a shadow of curiosity to rise. His gaze falls to an odd pendant around his neck. There’s a stone inlaid in it—a shattered piece of one that shimmers. It’s the color of the earth and clashes against the costume he wears. The young man turns and smiles at the king, gracefully sweeping into a bow.

He introduces himself as Corrin, asks Xander if there’s anything he wants to hear.

Help me, his eyes say.

His voice only comes out as a gruff grunt.

Something in Corrin’s visage changes. His eyes widen and he comes close to the end of the stage. He brings his hands up and holds them together on his chest, tilts his head. His hair falls, to the side, uneven and choppy in the back. What…? Can it be…?

Corrin sees it.

He recognizes his father in those eyes. His father has a hold on the current king of Nohr—he can see it in those eyes, how dim they are, how something lays just beneath the surface begging for help. Corrin runs his hands over the pendant and takes a few steps away.

“Don’t worry,” Corrin says, turns and walks back to the center of the stage. “I think I know something you’ll like, your majesty.”

Xander thinks he hears music. He feels Corrin’s gaze lock with his and something about this makes the thing that holds his soul hostage angry and uncomfortable.

He opens his mouth and begins to sing in time with the rising music. Corrin’s voice holds such great emotion in it that Xander clutches the arms of the seat again. It hurts—with every word Corrin sings, like water filling in his lungs and stopping his breath. The song has only begun, but Corrin moves with such fluidity as he walks to the edge of the stage. He does not dance, but his expressions are divine and beautiful, as he holds an open palm against his chest, and one arm out stretched toward the king of Nohr.

Xander can barely breathe.

Time slows for him and he hears himself choke, as if being dragged deeper and deeper underwater, but his eyes do not waver from Corrin’s. The pendant around his neck gleams, shedding the color of deep brown earth, to a paler red that fades into soft purple. Water slowly forms in thin ribbons around Corrin as he sings—one song morphing into another, followed by another. He sings loudly, voice reverberating through the large room. Xander can hear him everywhere. He tries to focus; his expression does not change from stoic, but cold sweat beads form and leave tracks down the sides of his face.

Xander exhales a breath he’s been holding onto for several long months.

What…?

He can…

He can breathe.

The king inhales deeply and his limbs relax, go slack against the chair. He feels the plush material and the cold armor against his skin. Corrin’s voice is clear and can make out the nuances of his voice. It’s so beautiful and he shuts his eyes, letting it wash over him in an attempt to clean away the sins he’s committed. Whatever it was that threatened to crush his soul drowned under Corrin’s voice. He felt the moment it died.

Freedom is a strange thing that he’s never known—hard to even describe. It’s like a cool spring wind blowing through your hair and the warm sun pouring over you—it’s the smile you give at these simple things.

His eyes open as the water seems to fade from existence, leaving Corrin to sing the last few bars of the final song.

Xander stands and he marvels for a moment as how he has control of himself, how he can stand on his own and not mechanically controlled. He claps… and gods… where does he even begin?

Corrin smiles widely and spreads his arms. He’s much paler and he’s sweating now, too, but he bows low and then rises. Before Xander can say anything to thank him, to ask what that water is—because he has so many questions, Corrin murmurs, “By your leave, your majesty,” He disappears behind the nearby curtain and Xander thinks he saw a limp in it. Stunned, he lets Corrin go and watches the empty spot on the stage.

He thanks the stage hands and impresario, inquires about the singer.

Corrin.

His name is Corrin, new to the company by only a few weeks with no real record of where he comes from.

Xander ducks off to the side and takes a deep breath of the night air. He places his hand on Siegfried’s hilt and draws the blade. The fire licks up the metal and down the hilt, but the flames feel like nothing. He has control of the divine blade once more. Xander looks back at the opera house as he sheathes his sword.

Something in his heart stirs, warmth, relief, fondness, a simple gentleness, desire. This bloom in his chest is unlike anything else he’s ever experienced before and it radiates through his whole body, causing him to smile for the first time since before the war even began.

He decides he must see Corrin again no matter what and now, he knows where he can find him.


End file.
